us (Mom insists on coming, too). We’re wearing leggings under our jeans and have our heavy winter jackets, snow pants, mittens, scarves and hats all ready to go.
There is only one slight, potential problem — the weather. Looks like there might be a teensy storm tonight, nothing really, just a sprinkling of snow and a bit of wind. I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Just the same, Mom is a little concerned, and she’s driving, so it’s up to her. I told her not to worry; I mean, we have a tarp, but she’s making us wait until five o’clock for the updated forecast.
By 5:15 I’m jumping out of my skin and so is Rachel.
“Come on Mom!” I yell from the front door. “We need to get going if we want to be first in line!” I look at Rachel, frustrated. “What’s taking her so long? She’s driving me nuts.”
“I don’t think she’s going to be driving us anywhere. Look …” Rachel points out the window.
“Ah, it’s just a little bit of snow,” I say, opening up the front door to show her. “See …” A bitter gust of wind blows through the door, whipping me in the face with ice pellets and snow.
Mom finally appears. “Shut the door, Hannah!”
“Where’s your coat?” I cry, forcing the door shut against the howling wind.
Mom shakes her head. “There is a blizzard outside and it’s only going to get worse as the night goes on.”
“But …” I try to protest.
“But nothing!” she hollers, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you!”
“Mom, we have winter tires!” I yell, wiping the melting ice pellets from my face. “They’re like Michelin Blizzard Blasters or something. Don’t you want to try them out? Look, the conditions are perfect!” I open the door again and point outside to our soon-to-be-buried-van. “Imagine us fearlessly blasting our way through the snowy streets of Glen Haven, battling the elements. The three of us braving the treacherous storm! We could make video! We could put it on YouTube and maybe Michelin would see it and want to put us in a real commercial! We’d be famous!”
“Hannah, shut the door. We’re not going.”
“But, Mom, we’ve been working all day and we’re all ready to go!”
“Hannah! Drop it now!”
“Fine!” I fire back, slamming the door shut. I kick off my boots and stomp up the stairs.
“Is your mom okay?” Rachel asks when we get to my room. “She seems … I don’t know … kinda cranky lately.”
“Something is bugging her,” I agree, shrugging out of my jacket. “I don’t know, maybe it’s Dad’s promotion. He’s working a lot, and I know she doesn’t like it because I heard them arguing. I caught her crying a couple of times, too. She said it was just allergies, but I’m not stupid.”
Suddenly, the lights flicker as a big blast of wind rattles the windows.
“Man this sucks,” I say, plunking down on my bed.
“Well, we’ll just have to buy them online tomorrow,” Rachel says, yanking off her snow pants. “It’ll probably be easier that way, anyway. Can you get your mom’s credit card?”
“Yup. That’s what she wanted me to do in the first place. She said we can just pay her back with cash.”
Rachel laughs. “Awesome! We’ve got lots of that!”
* * *
The whole night I can barely sleep; I’m tossing and turning, afraid we are going to sleep in, even though I’ve checked my alarm, like, at least five times. Finally, miraculously, I fall asleep. When I wake up it’s to the sound of my blaring radio. I try to unglue my eyes to see what time it is. It has to be really early because the alarm hasn’t gone off. When I finally manage to pry them open, I see Rachel pacing back and forth across the floor.
“What time is it?” I whisper.
“Eleven,” she says with a heavy sigh. “They’re gone, Hannah, they’re all gone …”
“Eleven?” I ask groggily. Then I leap out of bed, screaming, “Eleven o’clock!” “Did you get the …”
“The power went out. We slept in. The concert sold out in nine minutes.”
“Nine minutes?” I say, laughing. “Yeah right!”
“Hannah.” Rachel stops pacing and looks at me. “They’re all gone.”
“They’re gone?”
“Gone!” she says, rubbing her forehead.
“Seriously? In nine minutes?”
“Nine freaking minutes,” she answers, throwing her arms up in the air.
“I can’t believe this, after all our hard work, after all we’ve been through. We’re not going to get to see him?”
“This can’t be happening,” Rachel says, shaking her head in disbelief.
“How do you know for sure?” I ask.
“I heard it on the radio, Hannah. It’s the big news of the day.”
I don’t think I can describe how awful we’re both feeling right now, but I’m sure you can imagine. Even when I say the words out loud, it’s almost too hard to believe — we’re not going to see Josh Taylor.
Heartbroken, we mope in my room for the rest of the morning. It’s safer in here, anyway; my parents have been arguing for the past hour. I crank up the radio, trying to drown them out just as the announcer repeats again how fast the concert sold out this morning.
“Can you believe it? Nearly ten thousand tickets gone in less than ten minutes,” the DJ says, chuckling. “Unbelievable,” he adds, as Josh Taylor’s “Heart Attack” begins to play.
“That’s it!” Rachel screams. “Hannah! Where’s the phone!”
“What?” I tilt my head to the side, confused.
“The contest, Hannah!” Rachel shouts. “They’re playing ‘Heart Attack’!”
I’m shaking like crazy. “I think the phone’s in the bed.” I squeal. “You look there, I’ll look downstairs.”
I throw open the door, tear down the hall, round the corner, and fly down the stairs two at a time, leaping to the bottom. I am searching desperately, running all over the place when suddenly I spot Mom’s cellphone on the counter, right beside her.
“Mom!”
